


Only Now

by fishcollective



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Amnesia, Episode: s02e12, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7670575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishcollective/pseuds/fishcollective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Cole got his wish and Cassie woke up from her 1950s coma, forgetting all about him? In fact, what if she woke up and forgot everything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Now

**Author's Note:**

> I have moved up the timeline a little bit. This is all 1958, simply because I want a scene to be in fall, not spring…

 

 

_…You are walking through a red forest. The grass is tall…_

 

Slowly she opens her eyes. Beside her is a woman she doesn’t recognise. A nurse. The nurse is replaced by a man. Where did he come from? He says he’s her doctor. Why does she need a doctor? Her thoughts flicker aimlessly.

 

“We weren’t sure if you’d ever wake up. You sustained quite a few injuries. The trauma to your head…”

 

“What happened?” she interjects hoarsely. Injuries? Trauma? Why wouldn’t she wake up? 

 

“The factory. Some kind of explosion. It has been six months. It’s a miracle you’re still alive,” the doctor continues. He shines a light into her eyes and she winces. “Can you tell me your name?”

 

“Ca… Cassandra,” she croaks. Has she been in a coma?

 

“Very good Cassandra. Do you know what year it is?”

 

She shakes her head and swallows. 

 

“No, I’m sorry, how would you know? You’ve slept through New Years. The explosion happened in 1957. It’s now 1958.”

 

“1958,” she repeats. It feels wrong on her tongue. Foreign and old. 

 

“That’s right,” the doctor continues cheerfully. “Now, do you remember your last name? Where you live?”

 

“I… I,” she falters. Everything is fuzzy. Images running together. And nothing is tangible. Tears starts to well in her eyes. She suddenly feels adrift as if on a large ocean. No tether.

 

“There there. Don’t cry.” The doctor puts a hand on her shoulder. “It’s perfectly fine to be disorientated when one wakes up from something like this. And to be honest with you, I’ve never seen anyone come back the way you have. We will sort this out together. First of all, your full name is Cassandra Railly. You used to work for Maxwell-Rigfield Manufacturing - that’s the factory that blew up. Your work record doesn’t state any residential address, I’m sorry. Does any of this ring a bell?”

 

Cassandra shakes her head. Working in a factory doesn’t feel right. And how can she not remember her home? There is… nothing. Where there should be comforting colours, the scent of wood and detergent, someone who waits for her… there is just emptiness. A hole. A void which she is afraid to get to close to in case it swallows her up. Her breath hitches. 

 

“Rest,” the doctor says. “I know you think you have been sleeping for long enough but you need to gather strength to get back to your life okay? I will come back to check on you later.”

 

_My life,_ she thinks as the doctor leaves. _Do I even have one?_

 

She slowly slips back into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

She walks through tall grass. The leaves are red. It must be fall. A woman’s voice drifts through the air.

_… It has just rained. Most of the blood has washed away …_

 

When she wakes up the nurse is back. This time she isn’t startled and instead smiles down at Cassandra. 

 

“Good morning miss Railly. My name is Maria and I have been taking care of you this whole time. It’s amazing to see you awake.”

 

“Thank you,” Cassandra manages to get out, her voice still hoarse from months without use. “Maria. Please, call me Cassandra. No… Cassie.” Yes, that feels right. Cassie is right. 

 

The more she speaks the easier it becomes. “Can I sit up?”

 

“Yes of course. If we take it easy.” Maria helps her by propping pillows behind her back and then grabs a glass of water from a table nearby. “Try to drink.”

 

Cassie takes a small sip of water and sputters. Nothing is easy anymore, not even drinking. Everything will take practice. But she feels like it is possible. She doesn’t know why, she doesn’t know how, but she knows that there is strength in her. 

 

“Maria.” She repeats the nurse’s name. Her memories have to start somewhere after all. The here and now seems like her best bet. Start at the present and work back. “Did I have any visitors?”

 

“In the beginning yes. A few girls who said they used to work in the factory with you. But they never stayed for long. I’m sorry. A man came by a few times during the first couple of weeks. He got his arm busted up pretty bad. Maybe he worked with you too?”

 

A few images flicker in Cassie’s mind. A typewriter. A woman’s flowery perfume. Red pumps. A hard bus seat. She doesn’t feel like she had friends. Maybe superficially but no one she trusted. No one that would’ve stuck around. She sighs. 

 

“Nothing?” the nurse asks. Cassie shakes her head. “I’m really sorry miss. If you want I can work with you on it. Try to find some information. Maybe some pictures from the factory. Well… before, you know.” She trails off. 

 

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

 

Cassie closes her eyes and tries to remember a man. All she conjures up are inappropriate touches and crude whispers in her ear. If that was the man with the broken arm she’s glad he’s gone.

 

She spends her day taking tentative steps in her room. She reads the newspapers Maria brings. She starts to piece together her present. When the sun starts to set she gratefully sinks into bed. She has a purpose now, a goal. A mission. And she feels that this is exactly what she needs. 

 

 * * *

 

Every day Cassandra Railly gets stronger. Her memories are still in turmoil but she is starting to accept the clean slate she has been given. The newspapers gives her a framework for the jumble of information that is in her head. She is still looking for herself, but she is looking for herself in the present. Not the past. 

 

Every night she dreams. 

She dreams of bathing in blue light, of being torn apart and put back together.

She dreams of a family - not an ordinary one, but a family nonetheless.

She dreams of a forest soaked in blood.

She dreams of a house.

And she dreams of a man… a man who always walks away.

Every morning she wakes up and the dreams slip away. No more tangible than the wisps of mists burned away by the morning sun.

 

* * *

 

With no known home, and a severe case of amnesia, the doctor figures it is best for Cassie to stay in the hospital for the time being. Partly for her own sake, but partly because the doctor himself finds her intriguing. Such a lucky woman, with a remarkable recovery rate and an air about her that just feels… special.

 

Cassandra has started to walk the halls of the hospital every day before lunch. The routine helps her get a sense of structure. She says hello to all the nurses and doctors. She makes sure to remember everyone’s name and even starts to chat about family and hobbies. It makes her feel in control of her own mind and memory, even if just briefly.

 

A young man is led out of an examination room. He sits down on one of the chairs in the hallway as the doctor takes a few steps back to confer with one of the nurses going on shift. Cassie moves closer to the man. He has a yellow complexion, his hands are trembling, and when the doctor was speaking to him it seemed like it was hard for him to form words properly. 

 

“Wilson’s disease,” she blurts out. “Penicillamine.”

 

“Excuse me miss Railly?” The doctor turns sharply in her direction. It’s the same doctor that treated her. She remembers that his name is Ed. He has a wife and a dog. No children. At least her short term memory is working just fine. 

 

“I… I’m sorry doctor. It just slipped out. But…”

 

“But you’re right,” he continues, cutting her off. He is staring at her, utter surprise etched in his features. “We thought it might just be hepatitis but I just finished a neurological examination and all points to Wilson’s. How did you even… Who _are_ you?”

 

“I don’t know.” She feels the now familiar panic start to creep up on her. The panic of not knowing, and never knowing, who she really is. But there is something new now, hindering the otherwise suffocating sensation. Something feels _right_. As if one piece of the big puzzle that is Cassandra Railly has finally found its place. 

 

“Did you also say penicillamine?” Dr Ed adds, the surprise still not waning from his face.

 

“Did I? I guess so…” Cassie doesn’t know what to think anymore but she doesn’t push it down like before. “Yes. Yes - penicillamine. That’s what he needs isn’t it?”

 

“As a matter of fact he does. It’s only been just about two years since Dr Walshe in Britain started that treatment. I can’t believe this is something a factory secretary in New York would know about. You are a true enigma miss Railly.”

 

 * * *

 

She still dreams about the red leaves and the house. But now the images are cut together with those of dying children and the sound of coughing. She always wakes up with her heart beating faster and the feeling that there’s never enough time to save everyone. Yet she knows it’s her duty to try.

 

Doctor Ed gives her medical texts to read. He surprises her with difficult diagnostic questions, and every time she rises to the occasion. Her otherwise so reluctant mind is spitting out medical information like it’s her job, and she’s starting to think that maybe once it was. 

 

“Miss Railly, we need to talk.” It’s been a day of reading, walking and actually seeing a few patients with dr Ed. He’s now turned to her with a look of both regret and something else she can’t really identify. “I think it’s time for you to leave the hospital,” he continues. 

 

Cassie is caught by surprise. 

 

“Have I done something wrong?”

 

“Oh dear, no! Quite the opposite. You have physically recovered long ago, and mentally you seem fine now even if you don’t remember much of your past. We just can’t have you stay as a patient anymore. I think you can see that.”

 

Cassie nods. Of course she understands. But with so little tangible memory from before the explosion most of her world is the hospital. She started to think of it as her home rather than what it actually is - a place you should want to leave as quickly as possible.

 

“But where do I go? What do I do?” She looks at dr Ed in bewilderment. The panic she hasn’t felt in a while slowly starts creeping back. She is feeling her tether start to fray and slacken. She can’t drift away again. Not like this.

 

“Now miss… Cassie. Is it okay if I call you that? Don’t get upset. I have another proposition for you. Your medical knowledge is astounding, and I have given up trying to understand where you could have gotten it all from really. Some of it is rather cutting edge. But that said, how would you like to work here as a nurse? Officially I mean. I might have more tasks for you than the other nurses but there’s nothing else I can do for you on paper.”

 

He looks at her hopefully, and Cassie’s world comes back into focus. Yes, this is where she belongs now. Medicine is her new constant. She nods slowly.

 

“There is one more thing. Nurse Constance was cleaning out the old emergency intake station this morning and found some personal belongings of former patients. Including yours. I am really sorry we didn’t find this for you earlier but you were in that coma for so long, we changed the hospital a bit meanwhile, and this just fell between the cracks so to speak. It’s not much, but maybe it will help your memory, or at least lead you somewhere good. And then back here of course. If you want.”

 

He hands her a small box. On its dusty lid is a sticker that reads ‘Railly, C. Nov 7, 1957’. It doesn’t weigh much at all, but Cassie’s hands tremble as she takes it from him. 

 

“Thank you… Ed.”

 

“Take your time. We are not throwing you out this instant. Look through those things of yours and then let me know what you decide to do in regards to the nurse position, and if I can do anything to help you with everything else.” 

 

With that he leaves and Cassie sinks onto a chair. She takes a deep but shaky breath and pries the lid off the box. Ed was right, it’s not much at all. A dried up lipstick, a note that simply says “Darlene’s shift, Thursday 11 am”, a business card for one of the fancier hotels in town, and an unmarked key.

 

_This is all that’s left of the old me_ , she thinks. What could she even do with this? She picks up the business card. It’s worn, as if she’s kept it in her pocket for a long time, but the text is still perfectly legible. 

 

> **_The Emerson Hotel_ **
> 
> **_9 West 43rd Street. New York City_ **
> 
> **_Rooms to rent and lease_ **

 

“Well, what do I have to lose?” she says under her breath. She has been out of the hospital before. Felt the sun on her face, visited the remains of the factory, tried to shake loose some memories. Nothing. She always felt safest at the hospital, but she knows it is time for her to live her life. It can’t hurt to stop by the hotel and see if someone recognises her.

 

She gathers a few things from her room, just in case, and then goes to find Dr Ed. He’s in his office, finishing up some patient journals.

 

“Miss Railly. Cassie. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

 

“Of course I want to work here doctor.” She jumps in. “Thank you. I am going to go check something. A hotel. But I will be back soon I think.” 

 

“Delightful!” Ed replies. “So your personal effects from the explosions were of use?”

 

“I don’t know. We’ll see. I’ll let you know what happens.”

 

Before her resolve wanes she turns around and marches out the front door of the hospital. The pale light is sharp but she refuses to wince. She has a new mission. This could be both her past and future. And Cassandra Railly does not wince.

 

 * * *  


 

According to the brochure the Emerson Hotel is an upscale hotel that both rents by the night and allows more permanent residents. It’s located a block from beautiful Bryant Park and has a swooping iron filigree staircase enclosing the reception. Cassie can’t help but wonder why she would have their card on her person. Someone who works in a factory doesn’t stay at a fancy hotel like this. Did she have a rich lover? No, that doesn’t feel right at all.

 

“Here goes nothing,” she mumbles and approaches the desk. Before she can raise her voice to address the concierge he looks up with a startled expression and then a questioning smile spreads across his face.

 

“Miss Railly? I didn’t think you would return.”

 

Cassie is taken aback. The concierge recognises her and even remembers her name. This is not at all what she expected. Should she just tell him everything? Ask all the questions and hope to get all the answers? Does she even want the answers anymore? But something inside stops her. She has an unexplained feeling of necessary secrecy. Some things should not be said. Some things should remain in the shadows. She decides to go with the truth, but only the bare minimum.

 

“I was in an accident. I have been away.”

 

“Oh dear. I’m awfully sorry ma’am. Please, let me escort you to your suite.” The concierge offers his arm to her as if she was still weak from the accident. Considering her head is spinning, Cassie gratefully takes it as he leads her upstairs. The stop outside room 607 and something prickles in the back of Cassie’s mind. 

 

“Ma’am. Do you still have your key?” The concierge looks at her expectantly but with a hint of pity. She fumbles in her pockets and takes out the key from the box. The concierge gingerly takes it from her and to Cassie’s continued surprise - unlocks the door. “Excellent ma’am. I will leave you to it. And ma’am? I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

With the young man gone, Cassie takes a breath and takes a step into the suite. _Her_ suite. She expects it to be stale and dusty, but it isn’t. The hotel staff must have taken good care of it while she was gone. It is clean, and it is empty. The place seems to have been completely cleared out, and yet the hotel did not rent it out to someone else. Cassie gathers she must’ve paid for a long time ahead, but also not have many belongings. She makes a mental note to ask someone about her things later. Maybe they kept them for her. Another box, another mystery.

 

She takes another step and closes the door behind her. The room is nicely furnished with beautiful wooden pieces. A medium sized sofa is standing in the centre of the room, facing a fireplace. By the lace covered windows there’s a small dining table and a desk. To her left the suite opens into a bedroom with a double bed and further to a full bathroom. She can see how one could have this as a home. Yes, _home_. She feels it settle inside her. This is her home. She thought the hospital was the only place where she would feel safe now, but she was wrong. There is a deep sense of belonging to this room. A sense of returning, and finding refuge. Of never having to wonder where to go next. 

 

Walking around the main room she trails a finger along the ornate wooden back of the sofa. Something doesn’t feel right. Something is missing. No, _someone_ is missing. She shouldn’t been alone in this place. Moving into the small bedroom she stretches out on the bed. It feels luxurious compared to the hospital cots. Did she share this bed with someone before? She knows she could ask the staff. The concierge still remembers her - he would remember if she had a lover. There is no ring on her finger, nor was there one in the small box at the hospital. Yet she has the feeling there should be a man sharing this home with her. A brother would stay by her side, but a lover? If the man with the broken arm Maria told her about when Cassie first woke up is him, then he is long gone. If there was a man in her life he left her. He left an unconscious woman in a hospital and just walked away. She doesn’t want to know that man. She will ask the staff for her things, but not for her past.

 

The bed is soft and the day is coming to an end. Before Cassie knows it the newfound sense of security and belonging has lulled her to sleep. She dreams of the house again. Of cedar and pine. But when she wakes it is not a woman’s voice that echoes into the morning. It’s a man’s.

   …   _I’m sorry …_

 

 * * *

 

Cassie settles into her new life easily. The hotel feels like home, and they had indeed kept her things. Nothing remarkable in the collection of items the bellboy got from the hotel store room. It is mostly clothes, toiletries, jewellery, and a few books. There are no diaries, notes of photos. Anything truly personal is missing and on top of everything else this makes Cassie suspicious about her previous life. For some reason she lived in a beautiful place like the Emerson, but still took a low-paid job at a factory. Her medical knowledge is extensive and sometimes even beyond what Dr. Ed knows. Sometimes she dreams of technology that she doesn’t understand, of secrets, and of bullets. No family, no friends, no ties to anything or anyone. The only logical conclusion she reasons, is that she was a spy. The Cold War is dividing the west, and if something went wrong no one would claim her as their own. Maybe she was even the cause of the explosion at the factory, but she doesn’t like to think about that. Her new life is good. It’s true, it’s pure, and she helps people.

 

 * * *  


 

She works at the hospital almost every day. Despite knowing the name of everyone there, from the janitors to the specialists, she makes no close friends. Sometimes she grabs a drink with one of the nurses, most often Maria. Sometimes it’s with Dr Ed. But more often than not, when her shift ends she returns to the Emerson Hotel. Alone. Despite being content with her life and her work, she still feels like she doesn’t really belong. While the suite at the Emerson feels like hers, the _world_ doesn’t. 

 

She chalks up her disconnect to the accident. She really hopes it was an accident anyway. She decides early on to just live her life, no matter what she thinks she once might have done, or how detached she feels. So she works hard. She revels in her work. Dr Ed keeps his promise and lets her consult on cases that other nurses would never do. It becomes a familiar dance. Cassie has learned to trust her medical intuition, no matter how preposterous the thoughts that pop up in her head seems, and Ed has learned to trust Cassie. He will confer with his learned colleagues, but in the end he will try what she suggests anyway. Due to his insistence Cassie starts to take classes to get an actual medical license. Very few women even try, but she’s no ordinary woman. 

 

The year is slowly winding to an end. Hopefully Cassie will be awake to greet 1959 at least. The days are becoming shorter, the air colder. On this particular day Cassie has spent the morning treating three cases of flu and one fractured leg. Nothing spectacular, but that is the job.

 

“Nurse Railly?” It’s Ed, sticking his head into the empty exam room where Cassie is restocking rolls of bandages. “I really do hope I get to call you _doctor_ Railly someday soon.”

 

Cassie smiles. “Me too. But you know how hard it is for women to break through. I’ll get there though.”

 

“Yes. I have complete faith that you will. But that’s not why I came to find you. I know you said you were okay working over Thanksgiving. I really appreciate it. Francesca will be delighted to have me home for once. But are you sure you don’t want to come over for dinner? I would hate for you to be alone on the holidays.” He looks at her with genuine worry.

 

“Thank you doctor, but I truly love my job. And if I can’t remember my own family, I can at least give the people stuck here some comfort when they have to be separated from theirs.”

 

“You’re an angel miss Railly. Cassie. Really. But please, take _this_ weekend off at least. I saw you got yourself a car. Take her for a spin through the countryside why won’t you? Frannie went up to see her parents in Syracuse the other weekend and said the views near Binghampton were to die for this time of year.”

 

She smiles again. 

 

“Thanks Ed. I really appreciate it. I think I’ll have to take you up on that offer. I haven’t been out of the city in a long time. And you are right. I have to break in that car.”

 

  * * *

 

She dreams of the house again. Of green leaves turning blood red. Of rain. When morning breaks the woman’s voice lingers.

_… You are not alone …_

 

Shaking the dream off as she has done countless of times, Cassie gets dressed. She is not planning to be gone for more than the day, but she packs a small bag just in case. An extra shirt and some underwear. One never knows, and she wants to be free. To explore. It’s a day to let her hair down. The weekend is hers - a weekend of open roads and fall settling over the New York countryside. Green to red. 

 

Her new car moves like a dream, and before she knows it she’s driven miles and miles in the direction Ed suggested. She just wants the freedom, so why not drive towards a view to die for? Her mind wanders and she lets it. She’s not afraid of memory snippets anymore. She’s learned to not pay heed to the ones that does not fit the structure of her current life and the world as she knows it. She lets the car take her where it may, even if her hands are on the wheel. Before she knows it she turns onto Old Pines Road. She remembers seeing a sign for Binghampton not too far back, so this must be in the outskirts of town. A peculiar feeling makes her take another turn - onto the driveway of number 10. And then she stops dead. There’s a house up ahead. A house that has seen better days. A house of cedar and pine. A house she has seen almost every night for months.

 

She doesn’t even realise that she has exited the car until the sharp sound of the door closing draws her attention. She immediately turns her gaze towards the house again, and with slow steps she makes her way towards it. In the distance she can hear a saw tear through wood. She moves through the dry grass, following the sound as if in a dream.

 

There is a man. 

 

“What are you doing here?” the man asks her, a peculiar look on his face. 

 

“I’m sorry? Do I know you?” Cassie asks, affronted. She doesn’t like his tone. Nor his looks. He’s very scruffy. “I was just driving by and I… I know this house. I’ve seen it in my dreams. I think I’ve been here before.”

 

“Cassie. What do you…”

 

“How do you know my name?” She cuts him off. She doesn’t like this. This doesn’t fit her structure. It doesn’t make sense.

 

“You… you don’t know me do you? I never meant for this. This was not what I asked for.” The man looks crestfallen. 

 

“Sir, I don’t think I have ever met you. I’m sorry to disturb you like this but I just wanted to see the house. This is just so surreal. But I will leave you to your work.”

 

The man takes a step towards her and she starts to move back. As she does the skies open up and a steady rain starts to fall on them. Cassie follows the movement of the rain, and with it her gaze drops to the man’s hands. His pressing his right fingers on his left thumb. There’s blood smeared all over it.

 

“You’re bleeding,” she exclaims. Her medical instincts overwriting any odd sensation she might have felt about the man.About the house. About the whole situation.

 

“It’s nothing,” the man retorts, but Cassie can’t leave someone who is hurt. No matter how insignificant it might be. This is who she is now.

 

A drop of blood hits the tall grass, and without warning a torrent of images tears through Cassie’s mind. She is immediately brought to her knees, blinded by the onslaught of memories. 

 

She feels strong arms holding her up. Calloused hands cradling her face. And in the mental chaos the features of a man solidifies  – a memory of today, a memory of tomorrow. He is the centre she needs. Her tether.

 

A ragged breath escapes her lips.

 

“Cole…”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wilson's Disease is of course the one Cassie diagnosed Deacon with on the fly, and it turns out that "The first effective oral chelation agent, penicillamine, was discovered in 1956 by British neurologist John Walshe", to quote Wikipedia. It all fits together very nicely.
> 
> Thanks to kakinou for finding the address to the Emerson for me through her rewatch! I was one digit off when trying to catch it in grainy screencaps, but this has been edited to match the proper address.


End file.
